Little Red Riding Natalie
by Cecelia S. Bradley
Summary: For the 39 Clues Fairy Tales and Folk Tales Contest. Natalie as Little Red Riding Hood but SHE doesn't know! . I do not own the 39 Clues. I wish...


**Note to Readers: I know absolutely NOTHING about fashion. I looked up these terms online. **

**This story is set two years after book 10. Natalie is 13.**

**Many thanks to my editor, Hope_Rising11**

Natalie rode furiously down the well-worn dirt path through Churchill Forest. Why did she get all the dirty jobs? And her clothes were so _stupid_. Of course she would not wear silk into the forest, but why a stupid flannel red cape? Ian had said it was Lucian red, so she should be proud to own it, but it was red. And flannel. And extremely ugly.

You see, after Natalie and Ian disowned their mom two years ago, they bought a small mansion by the side of Churchill Forest and begun to live there with about twenty servants, four horses, and three limousines. Nothing much. But Natalie and Ian had really taken up on the charity idea, and given a lot of food and old blankets and even a servant (they paid him to work for her) to their not-so-wealthy neighbor, Mrs. O'Connell, who lived on the other side of the forest. Ian had requested that Natalie pay her a visit with some of the caviar they had just bought at the market. Natalie didn't mind at all: she always loved chatting with the young lady about the latest fashions and things. She had quickly put on a creamy peasant shirt with red embroidery and designer blue jeans. But it was cold outside, and all 39 of her other sweaters and jackets and fleeces were dirty (she had forgotten to put them in the hamper when they gained this state), so she had to wear this lame, lame, LAME flannel red cape. And since Ian had to take two limousines to the Lucian meeting at the Tower of London for protection and the other one had two flat tires, she had to take a horse. Natalie _hated_ horses. And as her pinto Luke trotted and bounced and jiggled along, Natalie decided that this one was her least favorite.

Natalie was just beginning to tolerate riding Luke half a mile from Mrs. O'Connell's house when a small child trotted out from behind a large oak tree.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you Miss Natalie Kabra?" Natalie nodded. Who was this kid? "Mrs. O'Connell sent me to tell you to take the left path at the crossing instead of the right. It's faster. And she said you had money?" And the little man took off his cap and turned it upside down. Natalie missed the gesture, or did not understand it, or ignored it. "Yes, I do have money. A lot of it. What? Quit staring and run along." The boy scowled but trotted away. Natalie was too lost in her questions about him to pay notice to the black armband on his left arm, embroidered with a single letter: V.

Natalie was twenty yards from the house. The path had been long, very long. Imagine how long the other one would have been. She smiled in relief. Her rear was very sore. Especially since her jeans were skinny jeans. She tied Luke to an oak tree by Mrs. O'Connell's house as she reached it. Finally! She happily stepped inside.

"Hello, Mrs. O'Connell!" she sang out cheerily. "Nice day for Prada!"

"Actually, today is more of a Vogue day. The red is nice, though," returned an honeyed voice, but not that of Mrs. O'Connell. Natalie jumped back, and the voice laughed. "Now, now, don't do that. You know that hurts your posture—and high heels. Come into the bedroom and introduce yourself to me. I will too." The voice kept talking as Natalie slowly drew into the bedroom. "I am Mrs. Hollingsworth, Sara's sister. And who might you be?"

_Hollingsworth. Where have I heard the name._ "Uh—Natalie. Natalie Kabra. I live over on the-"

"Other side of Churchill forest. Sara told me to be expecting you. Nice to meet you. My sister's out picking berries. She'll be back soon. Until then, why don't we gab?"

_Berries? I didn't know there were berries around here. Oh well. Mrs. O'Connell has lived here longer than I have. _Natalie sat down uneasily.

"My, my, but those are stylish heels. Where might I get a pair? Larger, of course." Mrs. Hollingsworth chuckled, only the top of her head peeping out over the covers, which did not decrease Natalie's anxiety."

"Gucci made them. You can get them in Lon-London," Natalie stammered. Yes, stammered. She was becoming a regular Amy! But something was tugging at her mind, and she had to say it. "Your, your voice. It sounds like my mother's."

"Why, thank you. She must be a very nice, sweet lady."

Natalie wanted to yell, "No! NO! I hate her! And she torments me every day of my life!" but she couldn't. She couldn't. She was too scared of her mother, wherever she might be, and too shaken up. But.. "Mrs. Hollingsworth. You lie in bed like my mom did. Almost completely covered."

Mrs. Hollingsworth laughed. "Well, that's strange. Not many people lie this may, and most don't notice. It keeps me warmer in this frigid air. I'm from Jamaica, you see."

"My mother was too. Is too, I mean." Natalie was getting worried.

"Well now, how charming." And Mrs. Hollingsworth slid one leg out from under the bed. She was wearing red silk pajamas."

"Mrs. Hollingsworth, your pajamas are Lucian—I mean a lucid red."

"Lucid? Do you mean Lucian?" Shocked, Natalie nodded.

"That's funny, because my eyes are Vesper black!" And Isabel Kabra leapt from under the covers. Natalie screamed. "How did you find us?"

"You're too famous for your own good," Isabel yelled as she chased Natalie outside. "You've forgotten everything I've taught you, Natalie. Shameful." Natalie was too frightened to respond. Her worst nightmare had come true in the worst way. And she didn't even have her dart gun or anything useful. Isabel caught up with her and began to pull Natalie's hair and pinch her and try to poke at her eyes, a very un-Isabel-like way to fight. Out of the corner of her non-punched eye, Natalie saw why. Isabel was inching her toward the oak tree to which Luke was tethered? How had she not noticed the dart gun there?

Luke, sensing the approaching danger, bucked and frantically kicked his heels. Wait. _**Heels**_. Thank goodness for Irina and her inventions, for Natalie did in fact have a weapon: her poison-loaded high heels. Natalie flexed her left foot in just the right way, and kicked Isabel in the shin. She enjoyed the expression on her ex-mother's face as the liquid seeped in.

"**Local Teen Fights, Conquers Murderer**

**Girl Not Talking, Methods Mysterious"**

Natalie smiled, set down the morning newspaper, and continued her pastry.


End file.
